The pouring rain irrigated down from the sky.

Turing and Yanling were drenched and had to take shelter in the European-style pavilion in the overgrown garden.

Turing sat elegantly on a stone chair, crossing her legs, one hand gently twirling her hair, twisting the mist.

Her almond-shaped deep blue eyes gazed outside, seemingly silently reproaching nature's mischief.

The majestic downpour not only didn't make Turing look disheveled, but rather accentuated her beauty.

The faint mist surrounding Turing carried her intoxicating fragrance, and the drenched dress revealed her skin like moonlight on jade.

At this moment, even if ten thousand horses were borrowed, they could not move Yanling's awestruck gaze.

She possessed the beauty of Aphrodite, enough to hold a high position in the temple; she also had the temperament of Coreopsis in the moonlit night; more commendable was her rock-like steadfastness — all these made everyone who had even a slight interaction with Turing sincerely believe that Turing was a unique masterpiece transcending time and space.

Turing was the ultimate product of classical heroism and modern romantic aesthetics, although she herself was unaware of it.

Her will was as firm and passionate as the protagonist in a Hemingway novel; her appearance was as pure and selfless as the most beautiful and kind Virgin Mary; her gender-neutral beauty that exuded at all times was the perfect poison that enchanted all beings.

Usually, beauties do not possess the power to control their own beauty.

But Turing did.

This left those coveting and envying her, those malicious beings, with desires but no means to fulfill them.

Watching Turing, Yanling couldn't help but freeze in awe.

"Miss."

"May I address you as sister."

"Just for today."

Yanling also sat on the stone bench with Turing, moving closer to her.

As if casually, one of her hands climbed up Turing's shoulder, cautiously speaking to Turing.

Turing did not notice the intense emotional turmoil in Yanling's heart; she was still pondering why she didn't have an angel.

"Okay."

Turing nodded slightly, her eyes looking out of the window, tacitly allowing Yanling's actions.

As if in Turing's world, Yanling was so insignificant.

Seeing Turing's absent-minded look, Yanling felt a slight ache in her body.

But she couldn't pinpoint where the pain was coming from.

She pursed her lips as if she had tasted the bitterness of gall.

"Hehe."

"Miss Kagtua is indeed a subjective deity."

"Isn't she, Miss Sister."

"Whenever I feel sad..."

"The real world will always present some images to enhance the sadness in my heart."

"It's like that great god isn't living in the heavens, but in my heart."

"It's a misconception that everyone has, right?"

Yanling's words carried bitterness and loneliness, but to Turing's ears, they conveyed an entirely different meaning.

["Subjective... god?"]

["Exactly! Gods are mostly subjective!"]

["Kagtua's 'aside' and 'backdrop' are subjective skills that affect people."]

["And when angels are implanted with women's memories, they immediately become angels."]

["And if Bastet believes she's human, then she has an angel too."]

["So... as long as I feel like I'm a woman, will I have an angel too?"]

["But I already feel like a woman... I'm not that different from those born females."]

Turing lightly turned her head, looking at Yanling in front of her, her eyes narrowed.

"What... What's wrong, Miss Sister?"

Yanling felt happy, thinking she had caught Turing's attention.

In fact, Turing had just figured out the problem.

["I understand."]

["Deep down in my consciousness, I must feel I'm not female, even not human."]

["In Acadia, as long as I think I'm a woman, I have an angel; as long as I think I'm a man, I don't have an angel; and if I think I'm a half-angel, then I won't even have the account arranged by Kagtua."]

["Everyone's experiences shape their subjectivity."]

["And gods are subjective."]

["The gods of Acadia are the blend of illusion and reality."]